


Ghost Bobby to the Rescue

by MeriKG



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 13:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20694641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeriKG/pseuds/MeriKG
Summary: Circa episode: 7:17 The Born Again Identity.  Poor Sam is languishing in a psych ward slowly loosing his bananas while darling Lucifer cheerfully plays cats cradle.  Despondent Dean, at his wits end, is calling any and every body he can find. Cue Ghost Bobby with the save.  So how does a newly minted ghost bound to a rickety old flask in Dean’s pocket just happen to know that AmnesiaCas, now Emmanuel, is very alive and contentedly married to some strange lady in Colorado?  Simplest answer:  he already knew.  So that answers that.  Wait, what? How did that go down, exactly?  Cue the fan fic.**This one doesn’t exactly lend itself to smut, so I’ll tag on a little Dean/CrazyCas sexscapade as an extra chapter, since no one will read this without some decent fucking (I don’t judge, I do the same search myself.  NC-17 or it didn’t happen. So, the second chapter, ‘Castiel Sucks at More Than Just Twister’ will follow.  Feel free to skip to the sex if you'd prefer).**





	1. How the Hell Did Ghost Bobby Know about Emmanuel

**Author's Note:**

> Nod to my beta and GISH Captain Extraordinaire, Jenny, for being awesome.

In general, Supernatural does an amazing job with suspension of disbelief. By the time you realize a plot device doesn’t quite add up, they’ve moved on to some lovely maiming and bloodshed with a side of heart-wrenching masculine drama, and we the viewers have forgotten the issue entirely. 

The most notable exception to this rule, in my humble opinion, is that moment when we found out that Dean struck out at a bar, citing ‘dad bod’ in episode 11:13 Love Hurts. There is simply no possible reality in any universe where someone who looks anything like Jensen Ackles walks out lonely from a dive bar. Ghosts, demons, the occasional God? Okay, sure I’ll buy all that. But Dean Fucking Winchester will always score at a bar. Always. Which leads to my second ‘Um…’ moment. Episode: 7:17 The Born Again Identity. And here we go.  
\----------------------------------------------

How the Hell Did Ghost Bobby Know About Emmanuel?

Bobby Singer, previously of Singer Automotive Parts and Salvage, stared morosely through the amber glass in his hand. Once the adrenaline wore off and he’d gotten himself and his boys safely off Monster Radar, he’d run out of distractions. 

The destruction of his home hit him significantly harder than he was letting on. Dean knew of course, for all that he wasn’t saying anything. That observant little shit played dumb so well it was easy to forget that all the aggression and sarcasm hid an astute mind and sharp eyes. Too sharp, sometimes. Dean read body language the way his younger brother absorbed lore. 

Bobby sighed. That termite infested old pit of a house had been the last reminder of his old life. Losing that, it was the final nails in the coffin. He’d thought burying his wife the second time, after killing her of course, had put paid to all that emotional crap. Apparently not so much.

Bobby swallowed the half-full glass of rotgut in one swig. Time to man up. He didn’t have the luxury of being all dopey and morose. Dean had enough on his plate babysitting his half-nuts brother while dealing with the loss of his only friend; the last thing he needed was for Bobby to fall apart on him too. The kid had wide shoulders, but even he could only bear so much weight.

So, Bobby did what he always did when the darkness threatened to drag him over the ledge; he went to work. Over the years, he’d become the hub for half the damn hunters in the country, or it felt like it anyway. It wouldn’t do to leave them high and dry, especially with Bigmouths running about all over the damn place. 

He scrounged up half a dozen phones and set up shop on a beat up old desk in the corner of the cabin, hemmed in by dozens of boxes of photocopied old books. They didn’t carry the same weight as the ancient tomes he’d spent half a life collecting, but it did no good to dwell on what he didn’t have. He’d make do with what he did.

He put the word out that he was unavailable; only the one’s he was close with, or the truly desperate, managed to reach him. But it was enough to stay busy. More importantly, he looked busy enough to settle Dean’s concerns. Damn mother hen. Bobby supposed that’s just what happens to a person when they have to become a father by age twelve. 

Slowly he nudged his way back into the world, keeping a line out for any signs the Levis were up to something interesting. It was while Sam and Dean were out hunting their doppelgangers that interesting finally bit. But it had nothing to do with Purgatory’s most wanted.

Daisy-Ann was about as ruthless a hunter as he’d ever come across. Five foot nothing, with warm, innocent brown eyes and a guileless smile, you never saw her coming until you had a knife pokin’ out from your gullet. He still had memories of clearing out a couple of vamps with her, when he’d finally seen her genuine smile for the first time. It wasn’t something a man just forgot. 

He thought he was going to rescue the lass. By the time he made it in, he’d arrived just in time to watch her finish off the last of the pair of bloodsuckers. She’d been up to her knees in gore, fresh sprays of blood dotting her face like demented freckles while she methodically sawed through a vamp’s spinal cord with a massive pocketknife. She’d grinned up at him from where she knelt over the not-dead-yet corpse as he’d stormed the old shack, her gaze penny bright. He’d almost felt sorry for the paralyzed thing. Almost. 

She was bat-shit crazy, borderline psychotic, and definitely among the top ten hunters he’d ever run across. Wasn’t too keen on the research though. Last he’d heard, she’d hooked up with a historian. The man couldn’t hunt a blind puppy, but he was a whiz at getting Daisy the info she needed. She hadn’t had much need to call on Bobby since then.

He couldn’t have been more surprised to hear her voice when he’d answered one of his older phones. A person who chased death with the ferocity of that little lady should have caught up with it by now. 

“Heya, Bobby,” her bright voice chirped over the line. “Long time since we talked, yeah?” Bobby leaned back, staring at the phone a second.

“Daisy-Ann. Been a while. You sound awful cheerful, girl. You standing on a fresh ghoul corpse or something?” 

She laughed. “Don’t I wish? That was a good time, yeah? Glory years.” She sighed. “But that’s not why I’m calling. I put a werewolf down, just south of Cheyenne a little bit ago. Turns out the damn thing had a mate. She tracked us down last week.”

Her voice sobered. “I put half a dinner set worth of silver through her chest, but not before she’d clawed Jason’s arm to pieces. It looked like someone had run it through a damn shredder from the shoulder down.”

“Is Jason your historian?” He asked.

“What? Heavens no. Richard and I parted ways years ago. He couldn’t handle the bloodshed, the big sissy. So I upgraded. Jason is his cousin. Neither one can hunt worth a damn, but Jason is pretty great with the books, ya know? And much more creative between the sheets.”

Brave man. Or stupid. Daisy may be pretty, but Bobby wouldn’t bed down with that she-hyena for a dragon’s nest worth of gold.

“Anyway, while he was in the hospital getting treated for shock I went looking for something that might help. Skuttlebutt has it is you are looking for the unexplainable. Well, I found it.”

She paused. “Look Bobby, you know I’ll kill about anything that needs killing. But this guy? I don’t know what the hell he is, but he completely healed Jason’s arm. The docs managed to salvage some, but they said it was mostly cosmetic; he’d never recover the use of it. 

“I found this guy an hour or so outside of Denver. Word was he was some kind of miracle man. Calls himself Emmanuel. So I go and see him. He comes in, touches Jason, and just like that his arm is good as new. Like it wasn’t lycanthropic Alpo a week ago. Not even a scar. And he didn’t ask a damn thing in exchange.” She paused. 

“Just look good and hard before punching his card, would you? Make sure he has it coming?”

Daisy-Ann killed with a carefree liberty that made even Bobby uncomfortable. That she was asking him to stay his hand, well, that alone was enough to make him real curious. He had to know what this thing was.

“Will do, sweetheart. Thanks for the info. Stay safe out there, will ya?” Bobby told her. 

“Aww, Bobby, what kind of boring old house wife do you take me for? You know that’s no fun. But while I got you beholden to me and all that, can you tell me anything you may have heard about spider men? And I don’t mean the friendly neighborhood kind.”

Bobby shook his head. Of course the girl wanted a little tit for tat. “You’re probably hunting an arachne. Funky eyes, spin webs? Yeah. Don’t get cocooned or they’ll turn your ass. Fire gets their attention, but you need to lop off the head to be sure…”

Once Bobby spilled all Sam had told them from the brother’s arachne hunt, he sat in his chair and thought. A quick phone call to the boys reassured him they’d taken a break from hunting their evil twins for a routine ghost hunt out in Pennsylvania. They should be fine on their own for a bit. Plenty of time for him to take a trip out to Colorado and see what all the fuss was about.

\--------------  
Bobby sat in the car, staring at nothing. He’d just spent the better part of a day stalking Mrs. Daphne Allen while she ran errands, her husband in tow. Or the man that she claimed as such, anyway. Bobby hadn’t found any paperwork making it legal, but he’d seen a generic kinko-quality certificate hung in the hallway of their home when he’d snuck in to take a peak around. Not a big deal in and of itself, lots of folks didn’t bother involving the government in their personal lives.

What was interesting though, was hubby may call himself Emmanuel, but he was the spitting image of a certain renegade angel that had disappeared on them earlier that year. Bobby watched through the glass of the store he was currently staking out while the mystery man walked by his wife’s side, placidly pushing a grocery cart.

Well, this was a mess and a half. Sighing, Bobby yanked the decrepit Oldsmobile’s door open with metallic groan of protest and stepped out, waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Allen to emerge from the supermarket.

He pulled out a newspaper and leaned against the hood of the car to wait. It wasn’t long until the couple emerged, arms laden with grocery bags. Bobby folded the paper and walked past, deliberately shouldering Emmanuel hard as he went by.

“Oh, excuse me. Sorry about that,” Bobby said easily, tipping his hat.

“No apology necessary,” Emmanuel replied calmly, “Take care, Sir.” 

He looked right at Bobby, his eyes not showing even the vaguest hint of recognition.

At his wife’s gentle pull, Emmanuel turned away.

Bobby tried one more time. “Hey,” he said, reaching out to grab the other man’s arm. “I don’t mean to intrude, but you look awful familiar. Have we met somewhere before?”

“I don’t believe so,” Emmanuel replied, looking faintly troubled. “I usually remember every face I come across in exact detail.”

Daphne stepped forward, coming between them. “My husband had an accident a while back. He occasionally experiences some residual amnesia. If you met some time ago, he may simply not remember.” She smiled, but it wasn’t particularly friendly. “Now if you will excuse us, we need to get home before the ice cream melts.” 

She leaned up on her toes and murmured something to Emmanuel who smiled and followed her out to their car. He didn’t look back. 

Bobby watched the pair walk away before sliding back into the car seat. He continued to watch through the side mirror as they stowed their bags in the boot of the car. Emmanuel hopped into the passenger seat and they were gone. 

Bobby rested his head on the steering wheel. What the hell was he gonna do with this? Try to jog Emmanuel’s memory? Tell the boys that their angel pal was alive and well, married and performing minor miracles in nowhere, Colorado? At this point Bobby didn’t know if Dean would hug the guy or put an angel blade through his chest. They hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms. 

What would be the advantage of bringing attention to this situation, anyway? It took Death to build a wall in Sam’s mind. Bobby doubted the angel was likely able to do so without his Purgatory super strength or he would have done it back at the old warehouse. 

Emmanuel looked so peaceful; unburdened by the metric load of crap he'd been dealt the past few years. Bobby knew the world would come along bristling with pins to burst that particular bubble sooner or later. Call him an old sentimental, but he felt like the man should have at least a measure of peace while he could. 

Dean was comfortably grieving in his own Johnny Walker way. Sam seemed to be handling his crazy well enough, no reason to stir that particular pot right this minute. If he got worse, well, Bobby could always spill the beans later. See if the angel had a few more hail-Mary’s up his robe. Dean seeing his friend not remembering him, well, that may snap what few branches he was clinging to. 

No, it was best he let things lie for now. 

He pulled up to the house of Mr. and Mrs. Allen and looked in the front window. The two were setting the table for dinner, a portrait of domestic bliss. 

“You take care of yourself, Castiel. Enjoy the vacation while you can. I have a feeling the world ain’t near done with you, yet.” 

He yanked the reluctant gearshift into drive and headed back the way he came. He had two young idiots and a barrel full of Leviathan to get back to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder, Chapter 2 is completely unrelated. It takes place during the Leviathon/Dick Roman times, shortly after Ghost Bobby's flask was melted.


	2. Castiel Sucks at More Than Just Twister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place at Rufus' cabin, while Sam and Dean are hiding out, just after acquiring a newly awakened Crazy Castiel from the psych ward. Same day he manifests the Twister game (hence the name). 
> 
> Straight up smut. Originally meant to be lighthearted but Dean wouldn't allow it, the damn Broody McBrooderson. So now it's angsty smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs for Jenny, who reminded me that Dean usually wears underwear.

Twister Isn’t The Only Thing Castiel Sucks At

Dean followed Meg’s glance, eyes widening as he witnessed Castiel, former soldier of God, later the actual God, and leader of Heaven’s Rebellion II, try desperately to pretzel his body in such a way that he could manage to get his left hand on blue while successfully maintaining a reverse bridge. In his defense, he managed it…for about 2 seconds before his poor vessel collapsed on the mat in a tangled heap of crazy-ward white and trench coat. 

Dean rolled his eyes, glancing over at Sam, the two sharing a look of brotherly commiseration. Fighting the urge to snap something snarky that would only upset their crazy friend, he pasted on a smile and walked over to assist the bemused angel. Cas smiled warmly up at him as Dean pulled him to his feet. 

“You alright there, Cas? Didn’t tear a muscle or anything?”

Cas shook his head. “No, of course not.” The cardboard Twister spinner appearing in his hand, he held it out. “Your turn, Dean.”

“Umm, thanks, but no. Try Sam. He’s more the yoga type.” Smirking slightly at Sam’s caustic glare, Dean turned away and headed outside to change the oil on their latest stolen vehicle. There was no way in hell he was going to get all cozied up with Castiel. Nothing good could come from poking at that beehive. 

Hours after Dean had done every possible thing he could think of to bolster their aging ride and reluctantly headed back in, Dean decided that he’d had about all he could of existing in the same damn room. Cabin fever was a bitch and Dean needed out. Of course, he couldn’t exactly head out to the local bar like normal. For starters, the closest one was the better part of an hour out; secondly they were in hiding for a reason.

But he needed to get a break from the same four walls. Muttering to himself, he rolled off the couch and grabbed his jacket.

Sam looked up from where he’d been sitting at the table, working at whatever the hell on his laptop. “Going somewhere?”

“Yeah, just out for a walk. Gotta stretch my legs.” 

Sam nodded. “Be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?” Dean asked. He ignored his brother’s incredulous snort and headed out the door.

It was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Dean had walked the woods within miles of the cabin countless times. After a while, he sensed he was being watched, but nothing that sent up his instinctive warning flags. Only one thing he knew of did that.

“Come on out, angel. I know you’re there.” 

Cas appeared, walking calmly beside him as if he’d been there all along. He might have been, for all Dean knew. There wasn’t much method to Cas’ madness these days. He handed Dean a beer, one of Dean’s preferred brands. He was quite sure they didn’t have any in the cabin. Or the state, for that matter. Eh. Gift horses. 

Trusting that Cas wouldn’t give him anything potentially Leviathan tainted, he accepted the bottle. They walked on for some time, the silence surprisingly easy. 

“What do you see?” Dean asked curiously, noticing the way Cas stared about him in fascination. 

“Everything,” Cas replied, his voice slightly awed. “The trees talk you know, you just have to learn their language.”

“They saying anything interesting?”

“Typically no,” Cas replied, shaking his head. “The scent of the sunlight is apparently particularly spicy this season.”

Dean had no response to that, so he drank his beer and walked. 

Cas appeared content to pace beside him, focusing very hard on god-knew-what. Maybe listening to plants again. Hopefully it didn’t lead to any more questions about cosmetics. 

It was completely dark out by the time the long path Dean had chosen circled them back to the cabin. Cas had disappeared and several more times during their walk; once with an additional beer in hand.

He happened to be absent when Dean came back around to the side of the frayed cabin where their car was parked. He eyed the cabin’s leaky windows, their moisture-stained panes completely occluded with warding sigils. He really didn’t want to go back in; Bobby’s absence in the cabin was a persistent dull ache in his chest, and if Dean had to endure any more of his brother’s concerned gazes he’d flip his damn lid. 

He leaned against the old junker’s hood, wishing fleetingly that it was his Baby. But no, she was in lockdown, safe from the monsters of the world. He gazed up through the branches, occasional spots of star-dotted sky peeking through the heavy branches. The car shifted slightly and Cas was leaning next to him, their shoulders lightly grazing. Dean didn’t shake off the contact. The damaged angel was looking up as well, though Dean figured they were seeing very different things. 

“How’d round two of Twister go?” Dean asked after a while. He briefly wondered how Sam managed to get his overlong form onto the tiny mat. He quickly quelched that line of thought. It led in a direction Dean did not want his mind to go.

“It didn’t. Sam didn’t want to play, either,” Cas replied with a shrug. “He said he’d injured his hamstring earlier. I offered to heal it for him, but he said he was fine.”

“Maybe another time,” Dean replied.

“Not really.” Cas turned to look at him. “I have no interest in Sam falling down on top of me.”

Before Dean could formulate some type of response, Cas stood and turned to face him, leaning against Dean’s slightly larger form until they were firmly pressed chest to chest. 

“Cas, what…”

“Did you know I’ve spent weeks looking through the world’s plants and beasts?” Cas asked. “I’ve examined over 40 species of tree frog alone, trying to find a single thing that comes in a similar shade of green as your eyes. I haven’t even come close. Nothing else in nature compares.”

Rising up on his toes, he leaned in and kissed Dean gently on the lips. “In all of creation I haven’t found anyone or anything remotely like you. The way you feel, smell, your taste. It’s completely unique.” Pressing even closer, he pressed his lips against Dean’s again, a teasing hint of tongue encouraging him to respond.

Dean wanted to shove Cas away, the pain of old, enduring rage rising. He raised his arms to do just that. But his arms didn’t obey his command. Instead, they wrapped gently around his angel, tugging him tight against his body as he opened his mouth, deepening their kiss. 

Damnit. He never had been any good at refusing Castiel. And he’d missed this more than he’d allowed himself to think about. 

He felt Cas smiling into the kiss when Dean finally caved and became an active participant, the angel’s hands sliding down his back and inside the waistline of his jeans, grabbing a generous helping of ass. Cas’ agile lips slowly made their way down the side of his face to Dean’s neck, nibbling along the sensitive nerve path with a gentle graze of teeth. Dean closed his eyes and lifted his chin, baring his neck fully. He groaned when the hint of teeth sharpened into a bite. He relaxed into it, enjoying the sharp burst of pleasure when Castiel began to not so gently suck.

What was with Cas and the damn hickies all the time? Of course, the dude always had been into marking. And the impulse hadn’t exactly been curtailed when they’d finally started sleeping together. He needed to remember to make Cas heal all the overtly visible ones when they were done. Past experience proved he’d ‘forget’ to remove the ones that could be hidden beneath clothing, regardless of Dean’s requests. 

Which led to the next question. Done with what, exactly? What the hell was he even doing necking with a crazy angel on a busted-ass old ford in the first place?

“Cas,” Dean growled, reluctantly pushing the other man back. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I completely agree,” Cas said, his gaze serious. “The angle of your neck is geometrically very pleasing, and the skin surprisingly soft given your lifestyle, but there’s many more interesting parts of you I could be tasting.”

Dean’s brain instantly fried. Before he could get it back online, Cas had gracefully slid to his knees and was industriously working away at Dean’s jean zipper. His other hand returned to Dean’s ass, taking a firm grip and pulling him forward so that he could slide the jeans down to his knees, catching the elastic hem of his boxers while he was at it. 

Dean resisted, trying to lean back against the car to block the dropping of trouser. Of course, diverting a determined Castiel had rarely been a successful endeavor in any circumstance. Now proved no exception. He was more than strong enough to keep Dean’s hips away from the car. 

“Cas,” Dean growled in warning as the angel’s hand slid down his now naked ass and gripped tight.

“Shh,” Cas replied, glancing briefly up at Dean from his knees, the relentless blue of his eyes nearly glowing in the darkness. He was almost unbearably sexy in that position. 

“We shouldn’t talk, Dean,” he said reasonably. “I only have the one mouth, you know. I can hardly converse with you and simultaneously administer a blow job.“

And just like that, all hope of derailing this ‘O’ train went right out the fucking window. 

Dean could not remember the last time he’d been this fucking hard. Porn only went so far, and frankly, he hadn’t been much in the mood lately. Apparently he had a lot of pent up frustration. 

Cas pushed gently at his inner thighs, urging him to widen his stance as much as possible. He was naturally wide-legged, and his jeans were loose enough to give the angel plenty of room to maneuver him as he liked.

Just this once, Dean decided. This one time. He had a chance to get a taste of what they used to have, and it may be the last he ever got. No doubt he’d have to pay the piper later; he always did. But sometimes right now was all you had. Making the conscious decision to fuck it all, Dean leaned back on the hood and relaxed into his lover’s hold.

He knew Cas had sensed his acceptance, because he slowed down the pace, began to take his time to nuzzle and lick and enjoy. A sharp bite at Dean’s inner thigh and he knew he’d be sporting a deep purple mark there for days. 

Both hands massaged his ass now, firm circles that felt amazing. Nimble fingers slid into the cleft to tease. Cas had actually used his tongue there, a time or two. Okay, maybe three. Once Dean had gotten over the squick factor and relaxed into it, he’d had to admit the hot, wet muscle of Cas’ tongue laving his sensitive rim was one of the hottest sensations he’d ever felt. And it wasn’t really all that weird, he’d put his tongue in some pretty odd places a time or two, himself.

Without warning, a hot mouth swallowed him whole, lips locking around the base of his cock and sucking at just the right side of painful.

“Fuck, Cas! Warn a guy, will ya?” 

Little things like gag reflexes never had seemed to affect Castiel. One of the lesser mentioned perks to being an angel. Dean leaned further back, resting his elbows on the hood, and opened eyes that had instinctively fallen shut at the unexpected onslaught, so that he could get a good look down. 

He sucked in a breath, taking in the full picture of a beautiful man kneeling between his legs doing his utmost to suck him dry. Cas had picked up that particular trick from Dean, though that new thing he was doing with his tongue…Dean groaned, yeah, that move was all Cas. How the hell had he managed to press his tongue at the underside of Dean’s cock and lick upward without sacrificing an ounce of that perfect suction? 

Dean clenched his fists and held on as best he could. “Cas, man. It’s been a while, here. I know my control is legendary, but I’m just a man. Either slow down or I’m gonna pop sooner than you probably want.”

Cas slid his mouth slowly down the shaft and off with a faint ‘pop’. “No, I don’t want you to do that. I’m not nearly done yet.” 

One hand released Dean’s ass to slide around and cup his balls, gently massaging. Cas rose smoothly to his feet, leaning in for a kiss. Dean didn’t even care where Cas mouth had just been; he reached forward and yanked the other man against his body, taking his mouth in a demanding kiss, full of teeth and tongue. Cas kissed back, his thumb stroking along the base of Dean’s cock, hand still cradling his aching balls.

Cas leaned back and smiled. The look in Cas’ eyes, it wasn’t quite right. Distant. When Castiel had always looked at him when they were like this it was intense, possessive, occasionally angry, but very much present. Now, Cas’ smile was sweet but…sad, as if he was well aware something vital was missing. Dean closed his eyes, unwilling to think too much on what was broken between them.

A brief flicker of pressure on Dean’s lips and he heard motion, Cas sliding back down to the ground. He didn’t hesitate to take Dean’s cock back between his lips, sliding his mouth up and down his rock-hard shaft in a smooth, measured pace.

Dean kept his eyes closed, focusing on the familiar sensations. Cas had a specific style, one that Dean knew could never be duplicated, something he’d most likely never feel again. Because this, what they were doing right now? It hurt him, deep. The look in those beautiful, vacant eyes, it was nails in the coffin. Further proof that they could never get what they used to have back. 

Dean took a deep, cleansing breath, and let go. Gripping the car hood with both hands, he shuddered through a long, powerful orgasm that was nearly painful in its intensity. He felt the sensation of rhythmic swallowing against his cockhead as the other man wrung him dry. Cas didn’t let up, maintaining suction until the post-orgasm sensitivity began to hurt. Dean didn’t stop him, even then. 

He lay back on the hood of the car and stared up at the visible pieces of sky. Cas finally let up, the gentle feel of his hot mouth disappearing as he slowly pulled off, leaving Dean’s saliva soaked cock rapidly cooling in the chill night air. Cas rose to his feet and pulled Dean’s jeans back up to his hips. He leaned in, laying his chest against Dean’s, gentle fingers caressing his forehead. Dean felt a burst of warmth along his neck and knew when he looked in the mirror all evidence that they’d been together would have been erased. 

The sound of feathers rustling in the quiet night, and Cas was gone.

Dean stayed where he was a while longer, waiting to fully catch his breath, for his heart rate to slow to baseline. Finally he sat up, wincing at the ache in his back from being bent against a car hood for too long. He stretched, closed his pants and walked around to the trunk. He rooted around a bit among the myriad of weapons, finally pulling out a hidden bottle of hillbilly moonshine he’d stashed in the stained side pouch. Now seemed like an awesome time to get blind drunk and pass out.

He walked back into the cabin to find Sam in roughly the same place, still digging around on the laptop. It was just as well that Meg was currently in the wind. Mood he was in, he’d put the demon blade through the bitch’s chest on principle.

Sam glanced up, his eyes seeing too much as always. “You were gone a while. Eventful walk?” He asked, tone carefully neutral. His gaze slid to the bottle of home made hooch in Dean’s hand, but he didn’t say anything. Sam always was the smarter of the two of them.

Dean shrugged, plopping down on the couch. “Nothing special. Do me a favor, Sam?”

“Sure, what?”

“Next time I decide to go out for a walk in the woods alone? Punch me right in the face.” 

It would hurt less, and maybe remind him why he needed to stay out of the woods alone for a while.

Sam didn’t say anything. 

Dean fell back on the couch onto his back, rolled to his side and took a deep gulp of the rotgut, banishing the image of that beautiful, empty blue gaze as best he could. And he knew, deep in the dark part of his mind, that the next time Cas came calling, he’d do it all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! Thanks for reading. If angsty Destiel sex is your thing, I have several other stories that are chockabock full of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder, Chapter 2 is completely unrelated. It takes place during the Leviathon/Dick Roman times, shortly after Ghost Bobby's flask was melted.


End file.
